She made me shower, then eat, then dragged me into her bedroom to put me into her bed, returning a few minutes later with a bottle of Lucozade.
“I’m going to get in with you for a bit, give you a cuddle.”
“Okay, thanks.”
“You just need a little comfort for now, babe. You’ll feel better after some kip.”
Whether or not true, I didn’t really care, all I wanted was the blissful oblivion of sleep. So, when Carol wrapped her arms around me, I hummed quietly into her chest, then sobbed myself into a wretched sleep.
* * * * *
Between Carol, her fantastic boyfriend, and me, we sorted out the next few days of my life. The agency I worked for cancelled the week’s school contracts, and Carol called Bill to tell him I wouldn’t be in for my weekend shifts. Work was the last thing on my mind, and I ended up moping around Carol’s flat bursting into tears at inappropriate moments, guilt burning through me at having left mum on her own, knowing she was sick. No amount of talking from Carol made me feel any better, or less emotional, or over-exposed. Nothing had ever hurt like this, even the detrimental way the relationship with my mother had worked. Those hurtful words and spiteful comments dissolved for the moment, waiting for an inopportune time to rear their ugly head I was sure. I would never be free from the haunting disaster of what I’d lived, of what I’d walked in on, and I bet Julie Summers was laughing her head off about that. I’d never been enough and the manner in which she’d died was all the proof I needed to know I’d been a failure, it would take some time before I would feel any different.
On Monday, Carol took the day off work, her boyfriend disappearing while we made arrangements for the funeral, Carol guiding me in what I needed to do.
“You’ve done this before?” I asked after hanging up with the funeral director.
“Yes. My parents.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Was a while ago now, they didn’t suffer.” Carol didn’t elaborate, I didn’t ask, understanding our experiences with death were very singular and personal things. “You want me to go get some things from your flat? We’d like you to stay here until you’re ready to go back.”
“I can’t ask you to do that.”
“You didn’t. It was an offer, Jolie.”
I didn’t know if I ever would be ready, staying with Carol was breathing space to get through the next few days and figure out a plan for going forward.
“Fred and I will come to the cremation with you. Who else do you need to call?”
“No one. There isn’t anyone, how sad is that?” I wiped away a tear. “I’ll put an obituary in the local paper. There might be some old friends who want to pay their respects.” I briefly considered Jared, then tossed the thought away, the man could go fuck himself. He’d know anyway, it had been daylight when they’d wheeled mum out of the flat in a black body bag.
“Her affairs in order?”
“Fuck, I don’t think she had any. I did the bills and shit, you know. She couldn’t grasp anything, always drunk as a skunk.”
“That’s really sad, Jolie.”
It was, really was. No savings, no will, no possessions, nothing. If she’d had anything worth money, it had been sold to feed her addiction long ago. She’d kept her wedding ring, which always surprised me as her bitterness over her marriage had been clear and a tool used to beat me down. Years ago, she’d stopped giving a shit about every aspect of her life, including me.
“What about your dad?”
“He left us. I doubt he wants a trip down memory lane. They got divorced a long time back and I’ve never seen him since, I wouldn’t know the first place to start looking for him.”
“So, he’s not important?”
“No, I guess not.”
“Okay. Thank you for calling me, you don’t have to go through this on your own. Fred’s a good man and doesn’t mind you being here either, so don’t feel you need to leave.”
I smiled, the first genuine one in what felt like forever. “Marrying material?”
“Absolutely,” she nodded, her eyes glinting. “Next year or two, the idiot has to propose first.”
He would. I had eyes in my head, they may have been clouded with grief, but I could see clear as day Fred was totally in love with Carol, he wore his heart on his sleeve for her.
“I was in a hotel room with Yannick Ischmov. It’s why I didn’t go straight home.”
Carol clamped her jaw tight before speaking sternly. “Don’t do that, Jolie. Please, this isn’t your fault.”
“I was letting a guy fuck me while she was chocking to death. It’s my fault. I should have been at home.”
“Oh, boy.” Carol swore under her breath. “Not. Your. Fault.” She’d heard enough to know the relationship with my mother had been toxic. She’d held my hand and refused to cast judgement when I’d lamented about not having done enough to help her, about the fruitless doctor’s appointment which had left me few options.
Carol gave friendly advice, but I wasn’t up to heeding it right then. Maybe when I wasn’t so raw, I’d look at it differently. Right now, I missed a woman I probably shouldn’t have, and I had no idea how to reconcile those conflicting emotions. At least it kept the memory of Yannick Ischmov at bay, and that was the only thing I could be thankful
